home (is where your heart is set in stone)
by oumwords
Summary: Emma and Henry find their way home to Regina; one shot.


**warnings:** mentions of marital rape, character death, my mistakes

**notes: **a lsoa play on regina experiencing some of her greatest misery because of rumpelstiltskin, but subsequently, finding her greatest happiness too.

...

...

There is something humorless about going from one master to another, time and time again.

She was sentenced from birth to her first, her mother, perhaps the cruelest one of all. Married to the second, the King, and although his possessive ownership seems to be at constant war with his wistful guilt, with his decision to find Snow another mother and himself another bedfellow, his metaphorical hand wraps tightly around her throat, bruises marking her with its stamp: keep off, do not touch, mine.

And finally Rumpelstiltskin, the most lenient of her masters, or so she thinks.

The deception is simple at first, hiding in plain sight, exploiting her little experience: he doesn't torture and reprimand her when she fails to meet his impossible standards, like Cora did. He understands they are impossible. It's the whole point. Unlike her husband, Rumpelstiltskin doesn't touch her sinfully, and finds a lot of her wrong-doings funny. Her slip-ups amuse him, make him smirk and giggle and tease with childish mockery that enrages, but ultimately focuses, her.

In the beginning he doesn't feel like a master at all, because he doesn't tell her where she can go, how she must dress, with whom she can associate. And it's under the façade of freedom, the promise that he is enabling her, empowering her, that it takes so long to understand what he is.

Until it becomes frighteningly clear, one evening.

She is smiling an easy small smile, one with unfamiliar warmth. Jefferson encourages the reaction with another idiotic line.

The hatter visits frequently, invades her lessons with Rumpelstiltskin for no other purpose than to annoy them both. Although they barely interact, Rumple tolerates him; at least enough to let him stay and watch her progress into something "quite exceptional," and after time, his presence becomes something she rather enjoys.

Master number one had taught her not to indulge in frivolous company, and perhaps it's foolish to ignore her mother's lesson, because Rumpelstiltskin remains quiet and occupied throughout her lesson then, as though he is having a tantrum, similar to the ones Snow White is familiarizing herself with more and more as of late, toeing the beginning of her entry into teenage years.

And later, when the Hatter has kissed her hand, made her blush, left them to it, she moves to dismiss herself too, and Rumpelstiltskin does what he has never done before, and immobilizes her. He uses his white hot, dangerously quick, magic against her.

In the moment she's suspended, pushed against the wall, she realizes that he is just as much a master to her.  
An angry combination of her mother's magic, deceptively seductive, and her husband's brute force, his suffocating weighted grip.

The helpless feeling encompasses her. She's vulnerable and no matter how hard she tries, she can't swallow the feeling away. She does attempt a smirk, all the while fighting the bonds, as past experience means she still has enough sense to remain upright and not crumble before her new master.

"He's a poisonous snake, dearie. A needless distraction to your training, to our plans..."

Her blood sings in her ears, but it's unlike any song her heart once sang for Daniel. No, it's drums and screaming and shouting, perhaps not music at all, but she manages to hear Rumpelstiltskin over the torturous sounds, ears straining.

"...And what would the King say, hhm, my little Queen? A crime punishable by death, I'm sure." He smirks and giggles and leers. She flushes, and feels the humiliation deep into her bones. "All for peasantry, meaningless affection..."

It's mortifying, and she burns, anger becoming most prominent as he scolds her, belittles her as though she is little more than a foolish girl with an infatuation, and not a crowned Queen who, with magic taken out of the equation, holds more power than he does now. But even so, it is not a lesson she will soon forget.

And after all: intent is everything.

x

x

x

When the King takes her, she's too overcome, too bloodthirsty, to summon words.

The darkness in her is growing, has tasted her and liked it. Rumpelstiltskin says it wants to finish the feast of her misery. Her master, teacher, tormenter, has an uncanny ability to instinctively know, as though he feels the burning flames of her rage boiling away, and comes to find her for lessons when it's at its most dangerous. Like when the King comes to her, wine on his breath and another's name on his lips.

His impeccable timing ensures productive lessons, satisfying progress for both of them.

But sometimes Rumpelstiltskin pushes her and pushes her and pushes her until breathing becomes an impossible feat, seeing anything other than red and feeling anything other than defiled and broken and aching becomes nothing but a pipe dream.

And so naturally, the moment Daniel's name spits mockingly from his lips, she explodes. The vials lining upon his instrument bench shatter, just as the looking glass had once upon a time, clashing with her rage and her magic and his potions, creating chaos.

He is quick and ready.  
She is not.

The side of her body takes the force of the initial blasting impact, mostly covered and protected, save the smooth skin on her face and hands. She feels the warming blood trickle immediately, smelling metallic and clotting as he gives her a look that would be sympathetic, if not so smug.

He finds the whole ordeal hilarious. Although, she suspects he has been laughing since she fell from her balcony, watching amidst the air as she believes he so often does. How else would he know of her almost death, of her small brush with another chance at a happy ending, of her fearful betrayal to the only fairy that has ever tried to help her in this whole desolate existence?

"Temper temper," he murmurs gleefully, and he smirks.

His magic has a blue hue as it heals her cuts, removes the deep scraps.

"Take me back to my home," Regina orders, her voice hitching, vision blurring with unshed stubborn tears.

Rumpelstiltskin merely scoffs, pushing her chin with one scaly finger to expose the delicate column of her neck. When she gulps, it's audible, because his unnerving presence still unsettles her, makes her uncomfortable in such proximity. They both remain silent, breathing heavy, and Rumpelstiltskin raises his blue-tint palm to heal the aftereffects of her rage once more, almost caressing the splotchy injuries.

It's a strange sensation, neither unkind nor a sensual one.

The longer they spend together, the more he teaches her, the more she begins to understand his magic: the scent, the aftertaste, the way it feels combined with her own. It makes her greedy, usually, but this time it feels indiscernibly tender; it makes her consciously sensor her reactions to it.

"Why does this feel so familiar?" she eventually asks, rushing the words out in a soft whisper before he can finish and move away.

He giggles.

"I told you some time ago, I held you in my arms once."

"Yes," she replies dumbly. The very notion still concerns and confuses her. "When I was more...portable, I believe you said."

He giggles again.

"Wasn't really adept beyond punishing, was she, Cora. And even worse at self-control." He adopts a cruel expression. "Tell me, just how did this heal so nicely, hm?"

His finger flits to the scar on her lip; his dirty fingernail scrapes it slowly, crocodile eyes unwavering. Realization is a heavy and impetuous flood that drowns her without mercy, leaving her somewhat blindsided and bewildered, and so she does nothing but gape.

"You were just a weeping girl that night, left alone with nothing but your tears."

He cackles, seeing something in his mind's eye, and it's a boot on her ribcage, a thumb to her throat. It's a threat in itself, because the high-pitched sound hurts more than insults and indifference, her first master and her second, and it's fascinating to her really, in a sickening way, that he can inspire such a conflict inside her.

"You're vile," she rasps in a voice like gravel, finding nothing else.

Her one hand curls into a fist, the other pressing flat against his chest to thrust him away from her as she tosses her head back, moving out from beneath his looming shadow. Rumpelstiltskin closes the space between them however, just as quickly as she creates it.

"Ah, yes. We established that one yesterday."

"I don't believe you," she says, petulant, somewhat fearful of the answer. He makes her feel naïve and stupid in times like these, incompetent and tired. Exhausted with a fatigue that sinks deep into the recesses of her mind, strips her defenseless to the point where even calculating a momentary escape requires more will than she can summon.

"Think of it as a gift."

"You're the reason she could never conceal it, aren't you?"

How fitting, she wonders absently, that another master lays claim with another brand on her body. Deep down, she knows his words are true: what her mother lacked in healing, she masterfully made up for in the art of concealing the brands of her torture. But never the scar above her lip, no matter how it enraged her to try and fail repeatedly.

Apprehension teases the nape of her neck, her soft fingertips on the scar, and she says, "I don't remember it at all."

Rumpelstiltskin giggles dangerously at her words, seemingly transfixed with the movement of her hands, his eyes curiously watching the fine bones move beneath her olive flesh. The movement from his sound accentuates the perverse curve of his lips.

"Just a little memory spell, one you're not quite ready for." He smiles with his teeth on full display. "Wouldn't do to have the little princess telling tales of the monster in her chambers now, would it?"

But he was the monster in her chambers, even all those years ago. And now she is back where she belongs, as he tells her, with him again.

Yes,

Vile indeed.

x

x

x

Rumpelstiltskin's magic comes completely from the dagger. He tells her this solemnly.

There is an expression on his crocodile face as the words fall from his lips, gracing the air between them. She barely contains the urge to hold her palms out, ready to catch every syllable she can.

He's rarely human, and seldom has these moments where she can see the man beneath the monster. Moments where he speaks to her like one day she will amount to something, someone: a force that demands equality, respect, rightful fear. It's a dream, of course, a laughable notion that she will ever be these things to him. But still, it feels important, what he's telling her.

"...And something that breathes power into the very lungs of you, can steal it away just as quickly."

"Which leaves what, exactly? When the power is gone, what more is there?"

"Nothing but death."

She absently wonders if her magic is her own. Has he breathed life into her with it? Or has he simply disturbed the fragments of a dormant darkness within her, something that has always been waiting to strike?

His tone toward the magic they share is curiously blasé, confusing her, because he usually hails of magic like it's his salvation, like it will be hers. Yet now he speaks like it's something expendable, impermanent, and it makes her wonder: can he take her magic? Can she lose it, and be left with nothing but death? Alone in her palace, it sounds almost enticing, but when faced with the possibility that he, like her mother and husband and insipid step daughter, can take everything? It terrifies and renews her in equal measures.

Long moments pass as she mulls over the information he is generously sharing, avoiding his probing gaze. After a beat, she asks, "Does the power of the dagger ensure immortality?" but what she really wants to know is, are you truly beyond everyone?

As soon as she asks the question, she expects that condescending look he sometimes gives her, mostly when she indulges herself, believing in a future beyond the despair that is slowly killing her, but instead his slit eyes blow out momentarily.

She associates this expression with the remnants of his foresight.

"A trifle thing, life. Doesn't always happen the way you expect."

He smears on his master smile then, his teaching smile, and for some reason she feels breathless, watching his chest work within the confines of his leather apparel, and thinks that he might feel so too.

"When something feels permanent, dearie, it rarely is. When you're think immune, safe? Well, remember to check the shadows."

She doesn't understand, but he conjures up a tea tray and falls into his chair, gesturing to the free one beside it. Lesson over.

x

x

x

Regina watches the dagger sink deep into Pan's back, years later, feels the shift in Gold's magic as if it's her own. She understands, then.

x

x

x

In the blink of an eye, they are united and standing amid the ruin of their past life, suffering again.

It is of no coincidence that after everything, she stands aside Snow White once more, the violent wind surrounding them. Regina holds her breath and waits for the uproar and cries of revenge for sentencing them yet again to this cursed torment. But it is silent, save for Archie's wings.

As well as the silence, they're all painfully still, in the exact same positions. She fears that no one has the strength to move, frozen in their spots, and that's when Snow invades the immediate space beside her, conquers the barrier of her blackened cloak and makes a grab for her icicle hand. The warmth of Snow's palm tingles, reminding Regina of simpler, more painful times, when the little fair child would seek out her comfort, her gentle (forced) touch.

The time for battle is done, she knows that now. Now, they are only lost and broken and hopeless together, an unspoken concordat between mothers on the backs of their children, forever missing.

She wonders what Rumpelstiltskin would think, and hates herself for caring.

And in the very same inhale, wants to scream and shout and snap, be cruel and merciless and lash out with self-preservation, just as he taught her to. She wants to be unlike the woman who has brought them here again, because if this is good and righteous and sacrifice, then she wants no part of it, because it hurts. It's empty.

But it is life, and they must begin to build it anew.

x

x

x

When she tries, at first she has no hope. No hope to believe that what has been foretold will come to pass. But eventually, it finds her.

x

x

x

When hope seeps into the very bones of her, it seems to transcend into everything else then too.

The Enchanted Forest flourishes again immediately. Magic is the very foundation of this land; it shouldn't be a surprise, not really, but as the weeks slip into months, as they try to pick up the pieces, it works and responds and grows.

They all grow with it.

Soon, it becomes clear that what the first curse destroyed, once, rivals in force with the new one: only now it is beauty where there once was destruction, life where she only longed for death. It continues to transform and surpass a place it used to be, when Daniel was alive to walk along the waterside with her, pressing soft kisses onto her skin, one after another.

The hilltops and grass grow shocking, thriving greens. The waters run crystal clear. The sun caresses below it with a golden glow.

It reminds her of soft curls, and a yellow bug.

It reminds her that love is coming home, that Henry and Emma's curse is weakening, and the sensation it inspires is unlike any other.

Soon, they are going to climb into Emma's seashell bug and search the ocean roads until they reach what remains of Storybrooke. Where, if Rumpelstiltskin's final offering comes to pass, they will find a ring that leads true love to true love, the remnants of a shriveled bean, and a vial of the well waters.

With striking accuracy now, she remembers the vision he gave her to find, the moment she held the curse: a memory of a conversation she can never remembering having, but hopes did take place.

Rumpelstiltskin owes her this, even in death.

x

x

x

"When you return, the Enchanted Forest will grow stronger once more. All born of, but existing beyond it, will grow weaker in turn, truly erasing its outside existence."

"Enough riddles, Gold. What is that supposed to mean?"

"This backwards curse will make Miss Swan the Savior. Only, it won't be with her parents True Love, this time. Providing they find the items I will leave behind before the magic of the Forest erases them, they can find a way back."

"This is- that's not possible. The curse will destroy everything in its wake."

"Ah yes, but call upon the knowledge of the previous curse. Your mother preserved a corner of the land: something was left behind. And in turn, you may now leave something behind too."

"We don't have time for this, Gold. If I'm to believe what you're saying, then I will have my son back. It won't be forever. So why give him up now?"

"Keep up, dearie. It's an inescapable curse, that which requires the thing you love most. You must willing give him up, and in doing so, prepare to lose him forever with only the hope that they will find a way to come back to our land."

"You and I both know that hope is not my forte, dear."

"Oh I know, but curses aren't meant to be pleasant. Which brings me onto your next little conundrum: if we are to believe that the curse will take into account Cora's actions, then during the time, she told only one person. The Captain. Now, should the curse work in reverse for you? Then I am that person."

"But the prophecy..."

"...Makes this your burden to bear alone, until death, should the Savior not succeed. No one must know of your plans. No one must suspect. And that is price enough, knowing that a timeline decides your happy ending. That it can be so close you can whisper contact against it, and have it fall from your fingertips."

"Then how do I see to it that Henry finds the things? That he believes in his ability?"

"Oh the ring's not for the boy. You and I both know there is only one force strong enough to perform such a herculean task."

"Surely you're not insinuating..."

"Should this succeed, it will be unprecedented. And I fear maternal love alone is not a force powerful enough, true or not."

With a surprising speed, Mr. Gold raises his hand then, and murmurs something beneath his breath, surrendering her to the darkness. (She blinks back into life after a blank beat, and he offers her an impish, innocent smile that she will not understand until later.)

"Now let's see about putting your boy back in his rightful body."

x

x

x

Something shifts in the entirety of her being, the three hundredth and eighty first day she wakes without her son and Emma Swan.

The palace is bright and welcoming in a way it never truly has been; the slender light dress feels luxurious and new and beautiful when she slides into it, so unlike the ache she associates with the memory of sliding into a similar one, decades ago. Her long hair flows thickly, braided and soft and smelling of a new chapter.

It is time. She knows it.

"It's a beautiful day," Snow comments when they all sit down together, her delicate hands caressing her protruding stomach. It should have been a shock, when Snow had come to her in floods of tears, grief and guilt and hope and excitement, all fighting for precedence in her much too big heart. It wasn't, though. Not a true one.

"I thought it would be nice to ride one of the trails," Charming says, as he sits beside her. "See how things are coming along. You're more than welcome to join us, Regina."

Unlike Snow, he is still more Storybrooke counterpart than Prince, and she isn't sorry: she always did prefer David.

They both look to her, questioning her momentary silence, smiling with their idiot mouths. The quiet concern they harbor, even now, erases some of the usual disdain she carries, and the clear skies calm her further. Regina wants to say no, they cannot go, their children are coming home. But she remembers what Rumpelstiltskin told her; this is her burden to bear should they be wrong, should Emma and Henry never find and return to them. (to her).

So she stays silent and, only feeling minutely guilty, pulls on a tight smile.

"You two should go, although be careful, dear. Enjoy the day. Excuse me."

x

x

x

She's leaning against the balcony when there is a movement that alerts her to another presence, a quiet one, a gentle one.

The name softens on her breath, and as she tries to whisper it out like that alone could be salvation, words fails her spectacularly. Courage abandons her before she can turn around, because in every facet of her, she knows who the person is behind her.

The clear skies are blue. The waters flow beautifully, clearly. The sun graces its rays upon everything. There is only one explanation for this kind of perfection, and it's that she has, they have, come home.

"Would you have still given us that life, where we were always together, if you hadn't known we'd eventually come back?"

Emma's voice is a storm, protective and destructive and she has grown, Regina thinks, to ask such a question – to face such a truth. She tries to find the words that might satisfy her, but every time she swallows she seems to lose another letter, another breath, another explanation.

"You knew, somehow. I know it."

She nods her head at the subtle, albeit very reasonable accusation, vaguely aware that Emma is still behind her, and might not see the small action. Fear remains in control of her voice, although she's not sure her throat would grant entry anyway, far too tight.

"As soon as it started feeling mechanical and fake, like some part of us was missing, the kid started losing his shit, putting it all together." Weight, forceful and threatening, settles onto her chest at Emma's gentle, but angry confession. "You don't ignore a kid that screams out in his sleep about a place that doesn't exist, a place that takes away everything he loves." It loses the gentle, her tone, and armors up with her anger.

She's still without her own words, though she greedily savors every one that Emma gives her.

"He was so convinced, Regina, so convinced," she repeats, like she has argued the statement, "So we got in the bug and I was gonna take him and show him that where he thinks this place is, is just dirt and roads to nowhere. It's not scary. It's not taking anything he loves," Emma trails off. "But it did."

There's a laugh behind her on the whoosh of an exhale then, but it is with thick with tears and disbelief, and Regina doubts it blesses her with any form of relief.

"Regina," Emma whispers. Footsteps, breathing so heavy the motions sound excruciating. "Look at me, god. Please look at me."

She does, and everything falters. Everything ceases to exist bar Emma, who is crying and dirty and almost defeated, still in her desecrated red leather, too tight jeans and mud brown boots.

It is the most beautiful sight.

Cool fingertips settle on her jaw, and she instinctively moves to wipe away the tears falling fast down Emma's messy cheeks, abhorring the sight of them, and the very real knowledge that she inadvertently put them there. "We were missing you for so long, and we didn't even know it. We were missing everyone, but I swear, Regina. We could feel you. It was like trying to see through fog, or- or just, blankness just to find where you were. And we just couldn't see past it no matter how hard we tried."

"I've been here," she finally, desperately trembles out.

"I know, I know," Emma whispers, looking troubled. "A-Are you the reason, you know. The reason we drove to Storybrooke that night? Did you make it happen, or was it me?"

"I don't understand..."

"Did you make him have those nightmares? Were those memories just time bombs until we could come here? Just a freaking show of goodwill, because you knew we'd be back all along. Was it real? Was it any of it real?"

The silence seems to stretch on after that, and Emma's eyes cannot settle on her face for even a moment.

There must be so many unanswered questions, frustrations, she can tell by the way Emma unclenches her fists, reaching before closing on air; she's looking for a handhold. After only a few more seconds of hesitation, Emma's cool fingers find her jaw again, as though she thinks it will bring forth an answer quicker, never letting on that it also grounds her.

"Yes, it was real." One or both of them sag with relief, and Emma inches toe to toe with her, almost as if it's the granted permission she's been waiting for. "Your memories were the only things I gave you, and those are yours forever, nothing will take them now. Every decision you've made for the last year has been your own, every attempt to soothe our son, every decision made for his own good, and also the bad. Molding the future is beyond me, dear."

"So if you hadn't left those things behind, we'd just be pointless, and aimless, right? Just trying to find something we were never going to find. I'd take him and show him a part of Maine and then we'd just, what? Go home?"

Regina nods, her brows furrowing. "Never feeling truly complete."

"If that had happened, Regina- god," Emma looks pale and panicked, undoubtedly recalling memories of being a lost girl, never knowing which way to turn, which place to safely land. "It would have been exactly the same as before, because with Pan's curse, at least we'd be together. So which curse is worse?"

"It doesn't matter, now. You're here...we're all together again." Saying it aloud makes her awash with greedy relief, but it doesn't consume her. "Please," she says, voice hoarse, "Please believe when I tell you there was no definite guarantee. The memories I gave you were for a life with, or without me. I promise you that."

Although, how fortune that it's the former; Emma's expression mimics her thoughts. Absently, she promises to tell them all, especially Belle, of Rumpelstiltskin's play in this, that he was right, his final tale foretold and true. She wants to shout that she owes gratitude to him beyond measure, despite all of the horrors, because she has a family now: two people, who, with her love and for her love and because of her love, transcended realms to find their way home.

Unashamed laughter floats out at the thought, weightless, and it has Emma smiling in a way she can remember. Wide and unafraid to feel it, eyes shining bright with unbridled delight. Now she lets it consume her.

And it should terrify her too, watching that sea gaze drop down to her lips, should make her step away.

But it exhilarates her instead. She has had time, so much time to anticipate this moment. Has had time to take Emma's hands and hold them to her heartbeat, and not feel ashamed when she gasps, feeling it thump away in the confines of her ribs. She has had time to feel unafraid, when Emma inches their faces closer, and murmur against her lip, "I know what it means that the ring brought me here, you know, to this very room."

"And you're still here," she whispers against the soft chapped lips, the words brushing them closer.

"Guess I am," and the fortifying breath simultaneously startles and enriches her, but Emma doesn't give her a moment to feel anything other than home, doesn't make her anything but pieces and fragments and particles, all sliding in together, becoming whole.

Emma kisses her like fires and armies could not stop her, hot and wet and unguarded. She kisses with frustration, for the years they spent being together and fighting, apart and yearning, and she kisses her with the pain of being a lost little girl, all the while demanding that she kiss with the pain of being Queen nothing.

It is akin to nothing she has ever felt.

Her arms are safety she was too ashamed, belittled, terrified to ask for, and she hopes her own are the same.

"Shit," she hears the gasp, ragged, when they finally pull away. The ineloquence makes her laugh with languid carelessness. She would have been a fool to expect grand gestures, a cataclysmic shift. A burst of blinding light perhaps, a clarity that weakened her knees, words that could make a poet falter.

This is better. This is what she knows, what she has been waiting for.

Emma drops a kiss with striking reverence on her forehead, before she moves away with an embarrassed shrug.

"Sorry," she chuckles. "You just look like a freaking Queen, and smell amazing for a place that's not supposed to have indoor plumbing, and I smell like something that's been walking for days with nothing but a kid and a donkey." She looks troubled for a second, and clarifies, "The guy said it's a horse, but I'm not convinced."

Silence seems to echo from the walls, because although she appreciates both the compliments and the levity, her brain snags on Henry. Quietly, she narrows her eyes and reaches her arms out for the sheriff, falling into the ones returned.

Emma all but breathes her in, her hands skimming around to her back. "Hey, you okay?"

No

Yes

Yes

"I'm not sure of almost anything at the moment," she confesses, "But I have missed you both so, so much. Some days I felt like I could barely breathe, being so far away from Henry, missing everything...missing out on us, all of us."

"He's missed you just the same, Regina. It's why we fought so hard. It's why we're here."

Regina pulls back enough to look up at Emma's smirking face when, surprisingly, she feels the rumbles of laughter vibrating against her chest.

She raises a haughty eyebrow, lips twitching. "Is something amusing, dear?"

"No. Yeah. I don't know," Emma shrugs happily, but uselessly, her arms dangling before finding her body again. "All of this. I'm back in the Enchanted Forest, Regina, because a freaking ring glowed green enough for us to find you. And it's unreal, but second Henry poured that stupid water on the bean like his storybook said, it just clicked for us; we didn't even hesitate. We just jumped."

Her smile softens.

It's bewildering, at the very least.

"And now we're here, and my parents are having another kid. And we can live together." She shifts into a pensive expression just as quickly as she does a chuckle, looking far-off. "And it's just, well it doesn't hurt, you know? Nothing hurts anymore."

Regina smiles tenderly, her hands rubbing soothing circles on a muscled back.

"Happy Endings aren't supposed to hurt. That's why they're happy."

"And that's what I'm afraid of, because when Henry and I had to go, I wasn't lying about not being done. And now I know that we're not done, either. So, so we can do the happy bit, alright? But promise that we'll wait before we get to the ending. Can you promise we're not at the ending yet?"

Emma's plea steals the strong, cleansing inhale from the small space between them, and she blinks away the haze of tears that settle across her eyes.

They truly are home, together with their son.

She is master-less and unafraid, the author of her own story now, in charge of her own fate.

They can all be free and happy together.

"I promise."

...

...

thank you for reading. i hope you enjoyed it :)


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